Before he could answer, Jacob, Alex’s sergeant-at-arms, appeared in the doorway. With a cocked eyebrow and primed pistol, he took in the scene before him. “Need a bit of a hand, do ya, my lord?”
Alex jerked his head at the girl. “Jacob, get her out of here.”
Everything happened at once. In his moment of distraction the back of Murad’s head crashed into Alex’s nose, splitting it instantly. Blood poured down his face, and his eyes filled with water as pain seared through him.
Murad screamed orders at his men, but rather than staying to fight, he turned and fled, sprinting toward the exit, before escaping past his men and out into the night.
One of Murad’s warriors came at Alex then. With lightning reflexes, Alex leaped toward the table and scooped up his sword, hidden beneath the bench. He slashed at the first warrior, managing to inflict a deep wound to the Turk’s shoulder.
Jacob was busy fending off the other attacker, while Paval had the good sense to run, escaping after the fleeing sultan.
Murad would be organizing reinforcements. They would need to move fast, since the rest of Murad’s men must be nearby.
He pressed on with the attack, advancing on the warrior with fury at having let his enemy escape. Swords clashed and the loud clang of steel filled the heated night air. From the first blows he could feel his enemy was not a skilled swordsman, so he could easily deflect his opponent’s obvious moves. He hoped Jacob was faring just as well.
The two men circled each other. The Turk charged yet again, his sword high in the air; blood was pouring from his shoulder, and Alex seized the advantage to feint and then lunge, his blade running the warrior through. The man’s death gurgle was muted by the sound of a shot ringing out across the room. Alex turned to help Jacob, only to see his pistol smoking. The smell of cordite hung in the air while the other Turkish warrior slowly collapsed to the floor.
Speed was of the essence. They needed to get to his ship, and soon. The last thing he needed was a fleet of Turkish pirates on his tail. Murad would crave revenge just as much as Alex had once craved opium. The sultan would be furious at losing the girl—and the chance to capture Alex again.
Breathing hard, he shouted to his friend. “Jacob, rally the men, and get the ship ready to sail.”
“You’ll be all right on your own?”
“Yes, I’ll get the girl. Hurry, man,” he replied. He turned for the girl, who still lay naked and unconscious on the table. Then he froze.
He looked at the pipe, still full of opium, lying on the floor before him. Sweat ran down his spine, his mouth dried up, and his cravings galloped once more into life. With shaking hands, he bent and picked it up, enjoying its familiar feel and allowing the powerful pull to consume him.
The girl stirred.
He looked at her. He was here for her, for her father.
Anger surged within him, and as he regained control, he hurled the pipe across the room.
He picked up the pieces of her torn nightdress and covered her before gently sweeping her up in his arms and carrying her out into the hot night, proud that—this time at least—he’d been able to leave the insatiable attractions of opium behind.
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A Night of Forever Page 31
